


The Angel of Death

by Jenksel



Category: The Librarians (TV 2014), Touched by an Angel
Genre: Angels, Angst with a Happy Ending, Do not repost on another site, Gen, Jenkins gets a pep talk, Light Angst, One Shot, Personification of Death, angel of death - Freeform, tea and cookies, unlikely friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-07
Updated: 2020-07-07
Packaged: 2021-03-04 20:46:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25022620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jenksel/pseuds/Jenksel
Summary: Jenkins gets another visit from an annoying angel who refuses to leave him alone.  For the Crossover prompt the 2020 Librarians Prompt Month.
Relationships: Jenkins - Relationship, Jenkins | Galahad & Other(s)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 9
Collections: The Librarians Prompt Month 2020





	The Angel of Death

The twin doors of frosted glass and polished brass swung slowly open as Colonel Eve Baird stood next to them, her sidearm out and in her hand.

" _Okay_ , Librarians—let's go!" she barked loudly as she gave the gun a quick check. "Stone, Jones, Cassandra—the clock's ticking!" The three Librarians were rushing around the worktable, each of them frantically snatching up papers, tools and books, stuffing them willy-nilly into bags and backpacks.

" _Let's go_!" Eve impatiently shouted again and slipped the gun into its holster. "Come on, people! I'm not kidding! _Move_!"

Jake and Ezekiel turned and ran across the room to throw themselves through the waiting portal. Cassandra, however, rushed over to the high oak desk off to the left where her husband, Jenkins, was standing quietly, dispassionately watching the activity. His expression softened as she approached him and she threw her arms around him.

"'Bye, sweetie!" she said hurriedly, and gave his soft cheek a loud kiss. "I love you!"

"I love you, too, Cassandra," he answered fondly as she ran to the Back Door. "Please be careful!"

"I will, don't worry!" Cassandra gave him a grin and a final wave, then disappeared. Jenkins turned his dark brown eyes to Baird.

"Bring her back, Colonel!" he said steadily. It was a regular ritual between the two friends. Eve gave Jenkins a lopsided smile as she prepared to pass over the threshold.

"Always do... _sweetie_!" she called out. She gave him a wink and strode through the opening, the two doors swinging shut the moment she passed from view.

Jenkins gazed at the closed doors for a few seconds, then took a deep breath. The Annex workroom was quiet now, save for the unnaturally loud ticking of the large Regulator clock on the wall. He let the air out of his lungs with a loud sigh before turning and moving around his desk. He climbed up onto the stool to resume his day's work.

"Good morning, Galahad."

Jenkins jerked his head up at the sound of the quiet voice. Sitting comfortably at the end of the worktable nearest to him was another man, impeccably dressed in a three-piece silk suit the color of antique ivory, his necktie and pocket square of the same color but a few shades darker. He looked like a man in his late twenties or early thirties, with a boyish, clean-shaven face, close-cropped blonde hair and earnest brown eyes that now smiled at Jenkins expectantly. As soon as Jenkins saw the man, he scowled and went back to his work.

"What do you want _now_ , Andrew?" he snapped curtly, sharply flipping the page of the book he was studying. The young man smiled and shook his head at the immortal's reaction.

"Nice to see _you_ again, too, Galahad," he said pointedly.

"I go by 'Jenkins', now," the immortal answered testily, still refusing to look at his visitor. "How many times do I have to tell you that?" The young man screwed his face up and bobbed his head from side to side.

"I prefer 'Galahad'," he answered conversationally. "It has such a noble ring to it. I've always liked the names from those days—Galahad, Lancelot, Leodegrance, Guinevere, Lyonesse. So lyrical and heroic-sounding."

"Long-dead names of long-dead people who lived in a long-dead age," Jenkins said flatly, keeping his eyes glued to the page in front of him. "Now please go away; I'm working!" The young visitor pressed his lips together lightly and snorted softly. In all of his thousands of years he'd never met anyone as stubborn as this old man in front of him.

" _You're_ not dead," he pointed out in a pleasant tone. "You're still _alive_." He waved at hand at the book Jenkins was reading.

"You're still learning, exploring, experimenting, inventing, creating." He turned in his chair to glance at the Back Door. "That Bose-Einstein bridge over there, for example—that's a _brilliant_ piece of scientific creativity!" He turned back to face Jenkins.

"Thank you," replied Jenkins lifelessly, not bothering to correct his visitor by telling him that the Back Door also incorporated purely magical elements. "Now go away."

"What led you to create it?"

Jenkins sighed heavily as he loudly turned another page, kept his head down. "Been working on it for years. The Library needed a faster, safer, more cost-effective way of sending Librarians out into the field and back again."

"The key word being 'safer'?" the young man asked lightly. Jenkins froze in his seat and slowly looked up to gaze warily at the young man.

"What's _that_ supposed to mean?" he growled suspiciously. The visitor held his hands up and crossed his long legs as he leaned back in his chair.

"Nothing, nothing," he answered, shrugging and dropping his hands into his lap. "I hear there's been some changes around here since the last time I visited you," he continued, seeming to change the subject. Jenkins glared stonily at him a few more seconds before he turned his eyes back to the book on his desk.

"A few, yes."

"Oh, more than just a few!" the young man exclaimed. "Judson and Charlene are gone now—that's _huge_! The Library's anchor-chain was cut and it was feared lost forever! And there're _four_ Librarians, now—never thought I'd see something like _that_!" He waited for a response, but Jenkins steadfastly refused to participate in the conversation. Andrew uncrossed his legs and sat up, regarded the old man with unreadable eyes.

"I've also heard that you're even married now."

Jenkins's body stiffened as his white head snapped up, dark eyes blazing. He dismounted the stool and, with astonishing agility, dashed around his desk to march straight toward the younger man, stopping directly in front of his chair.

"Why are you here?" the immortal demanded angrily. "Have you come for Cassandra?!" Before the young man could answer, Jenkins whirled and rushed to the coat-tree at the foot of the spiral staircase. He snatched a rapier from its umbrella stand and sped back to the unwanted visitor. He charged across the floor, blade up, but stopped short of skewering the visitor's breastbone, choosing instead to hold the sword's point just shy of the man's adam's apple.

" _You can't have her_!" the immortal roared. "I don't care if you _are_ the Angel of Death—you have no power over the likes of me! If you want Cassandra, you'll have to go through _me_ first!" His face was a terrifying mask of rage, but the angel—for Andrew was, indeed, an Angel of Death—could plainly see the naked fear in Jenkins's eyes despite his bravado, could clearly hear the panic in his voice.

"I'm not here for Cassandra, Galahad," he replied calmly as he looked unflinchingly up into Jenkins's eyes. "I'm not here on business; this is strictly a social call."

Jenkins stared down at the angel for several more seconds. When he was finally satisfied that his visitor posed no threat to his beloved Cassandra, the Caretaker visibly relaxed and lowered the blade of his sword. He tossed the rapier onto the table behind the angel before stalking back to his desk and climbing back onto the stool.

"Why do you insist on tormenting me?" the immortal grumbled as he made himself comfortable. "Why can't you just _go away_ and leave me in peace?" He dragged the book forward and very intentionally buried his nose in it.

The angel sighed quietly and stood up. Andrew felt a great deal of compassion—and a great deal of affection—for Galahad; the old knight had experienced a great deal of loss, pain and sadness in his very long life. Many different angels over the last fifteen centuries had been assigned to Galahad, each trying to bring comfort and consolation and encouragement to the heartbroken immortal, but Jenkins had driven off each and every one of them—even Monica. Even formidable Tess had been no match for Galahad's embittered pigheadedness and his razor-sharp tongue.

Finally, Andrew had been sent. He, too, had been put off by the surliness and hard-heartedness of Galahad at first, but there was something about the immortal that touched the angel's heart. Despite his mistreatment at Galahad's hands, he understood that the immortal was only lashing out in pain, trying to protect his very scarred heart and threadbare spirit from even more hurt and betrayal. Andrew quickly grew to like the crabby old man and, to the amazement of every being in Heaven, Andrew asked to be permanently assigned to Galahad as his case worker, and that request had been granted. Andrew made it a point to visit the former knight on a regular basis, much to Galahad's annoyance. The angel now stood up from his chair and walked slowly over to the old man's desk, stopping in front of it.

"I'm very happy for you, Galahad," he said sincerely. "I _know_ how much you love Cassandra, and I _know_ how much she loves you in return. _And_ I know how much you love the others, too. I can't tell you how happy it makes me to see how you've let them into your life. I think a family—even a found family—is just what you've needed for a long time now. And I pray that you and Cassandra have a very long and happy life together."

Jenkins only grunted softly in answer, but the angel could hear the short, rapid breaths as Jenkins strove to keep emotion at bay. Without looking directly at Andrew, Jenkins sat upright and fussed with the sleeves of his suit coat as he cleared his throat. When he was ready, he raised his eyes to look straight into the angel's eyes.

"Thank you," he said, no trace of pique in his voice now. "I...I _do_ love her, more than anything else in this world." He dropped his head and cleared his throat, ran his hand over the front of his clothes again. "And...the others as well!" he added in an uncomfortable rush of words. There was a long pause as he adjusted his seat on the stool and forced himself to look up at the angel.

"I know that I haven't been as...as hospitable over the years as I could have been, and I know I have no right, but...I would still like to ask a favor of you, if I may," Jenkins said, his voice low and uncertain.

"Of course," answered Andrew warmly, and he waited, curious. Jenkins dropped his gaze again, his face anxious as he worked up his nerve.

"You and I both know that I will outlive Cassandra," he began, his voice steady at first, but it quickly become rough and broken as he spoke. "What I would ask of you is that...when her...when her... _time_ comes...that it would be quick? Painless? As much as possible, at least?" His dark eyes flicked up for a moment to gauge the angel's reaction before dropping again as he continued.

"And that... _you_ be the one who comes to...to escort her to the next life?" He clasped his hands tightly together in his lap and fell silent, swallowing hard as he waited for the angel's answer. Andrew walked around the desk to Jenkins and laid his hands on his shoulders.

"I have no control over _how_ her life ends, Galahad, but when Cassandra's time comes, I _can_ promise you that I will do everything in my power to make her transition as peaceful and gentle as possible," he said kindly. "It will be my _honor_ to escort her—and _you_ , when your time comes."

Relief washed over Jenkins's face. He drew in a soft, ragged breath as he raised his head to look directly into Andrew's eyes. He lifted one hand and held it out in invitation. Andrew glanced down at the proffered hand and took his right hand from the immortal's shoulder to shake it.

"Thank you, Andrew," Jenkins exhaled roughly. "You've...taken a heavy burden off of my spirit."

"You're very welcome," Andrew replied tenderly. Jenkins started to let go of the angel's hand, but Andrew held on and fixed his eyes on the immortal's, the angel's gaze burning steadily into the immortal's eyes as though he could see directly into the his soul.

"I know that at times you've felt abandoned, Galahad," the angel said quickly before his opportunity passed, "But you have _not_ been forgotten! I know that you've suffered terribly, but…I want you to know something:: On the day of the battle at Camlann, there were _hundreds_ of angels present. Some watching over those destined to survive; others were like me, Angels of Death, sent to make sure that those who were destined to die that day were well-taken care of and made as peaceful a transition as they could. Your friends who died that day—"

"Gawaine?" Jenkins blurted involuntarily in a whispered voice, long-suppressed pain rushing to fill his eyes. "Percival?" Andrew nodded.

"They died bravely, like the true knights they were," he assured the immortal compassionately. "They didn't suffer. They died well—in peace, with little pain."

A harsh sob escaped Jenkins despite his effort to control his emotions. Percival and Gawaine had been his best friends—his only friends. He had found them on the battlefield after they had fallen, and the memory of their bloodied, broken bodies had haunted him ever since. The old knight quickly swiped his eyes to keep the tears welling there from falling.

"I know it's been hard for you to see the rhyme and reason for everything that's happened to you over the course of your life," the angel continued with relentless empathy. "But it all _has_ been for a reason, I promise you that." Jenkins snorted loudly in derision.

"And what possible reason could there be for making a man outlive everyone he's ever known? To make him outlive even his country? Even his native language?" he demanded caustically. Andrew paused for a moment and looked down, as if considering something.

"Let's say you could go back in time, to the day you found the Holy Grail," the angel posited. "Knowing what you know now, would you still drink from it and become immortal? Or would you turn around and walk away?"

"What are you talking about?" asked Jenkins sourly, put off by the angel's seeming tangent.

"It's a simple question," he answered with a shrug. "If you had it all to do over again, would you drink and become immortal, or not drink and remain mortal, maybe end up dying on the battlefield of Camlann along with Arthur and Gawaine and Percival?" Jenkins's dark eyes became suspicious.

"Why?" he asked. "Do you have a way for me to do that?" Andrew smiled and rubbed one hand over his smooth jaw.

"Let me put it another way, Galahad: Would you trade knowing Cassandra—loving her and being loved _by_ her—for living out a mortal life in the Dark Ages?"

Jenkins's pained face suddenly went slack as he began to understand what the angel in front of him was suggesting.

"I was... _meant_ to be with Cassandra?" he asked, so quietly that Andrew barely heard him. The immortal shook his head in dismissal, unable to accept the realization. "If that's true, then why not let us be born in the same century? Why would we be born so far apart in time?"

" _Were_ you?" the angel asked deliberately, cocking one eyebrow. Jenkins's chest suddenly felt numb as a sense that he should know what Andrew was talking about crept over him, yet remained just out of reach.

"What...what are you saying?" he asked, half-afraid to hear the answer. But the Angel of Death only shook his blonde head now.

"I'm afraid I can't say any more, Galahad, but one day you'll find out everything, why it's all happened the way it has and what the reasons were for it. But until then you have to be strong, you have to persevere—and remember that you _are_ loved, both here on earth _and_ in Heaven above." Andrew smiled gently.

"That's why I keep popping up from time to time-to remind you of that, and to remind you that if you ever need help staying strong and persevering, all you have to do is ask." Jenkins sniffled quietly and pulled himself upright as one corner of his mouth barely slid up in a tiny, wry smile.

"Ask _God_ , you mean," he said dourly, with a slight edge of cynicism. The angel reached out and squeezed his shoulder firmly.

"You were baptized a Christian, Galahad, remember? And even though that happened over a thousand years ago, it's still valid; you're still a child of the Creator and he has _not_ forgotten you. He _still_ loves you," Andrew informed him soberly. All of the fight seemed to drain from the immortal as he returned the angel's steadfast gaze. Jenkins felt something fill his heart at that moment—not peace, exactly; he felt true peace only when he was in Cassandra's arms. Right now he felt more a sense of calm, a sense of well-being, that everything would, indeed, work out in the end, that one day he would have all the answers to all of his questions. The angel released Jenkins's shoulder.

"Thank you," was all the immortal could whisper. "Thank you. For your words, and for promising to take care of Cassandra for me when—" Jenkins dropped his head abruptly as his throat suddenly closed and choked off his words. Andrew slowly pulled a solid gold pocket watch from his waistcoat and opened it. He smiled.

"Your team won't be coming back for several hours yet," he said brightly, deliberately changing the subject. He snapped the watch closed and slipped it back into his waistcoat. "You...wouldn't happen to have any Ti Guan Yin around here, would you? I hate to admit it, but I developed sort of an addiction to it during the Boxer Rebellion." Jenkins looked at him appraisingly for a few moments through watery eyes, then turned to close the book on his desk and stopper the bottle of ink.

"I remember the Boxer Rebellion," the old man said, his face thoughtful as he turned back to the angel. "I'm afraid I developed a rather unfortunate addiction of my own in those days..." A wellspring of unpleasant memories gushed up in the Caretaker's mind.

"Opium; I know," the angel said sympathetically, and laid his hand on Jenkins's arm as they turned toward the kitchen. "Why don't you make us a pot of that tea and tell me all about it—I'd _love_ to hear your stories from China."

"Really?" said Jenkins, inexplicably pleased as he guided the Angel of Death to the Library's kitchen. "I've never spoken of that time with anyone..."

"Wonderful! Oh, and can we have some of those sugar cookies that Cassandra made yesterday?" Jenkins stopped and regarded the angel, a confused look on his face.

"Cassandra didn't make any cookies yesterday," he said.

"Um, yeah—actually she _did_ ; she made them while you were in the Archives," countered the angel, almost sheepishly. He gave Jenkins a knowing look. "She...kinda hid them from you."

"She _hid_ them from me?!" barked the immortal. The angel shrugged; he had to look away from Jenkins in order to keep from bursting into laughter at the comically affronted look on the old man's face.

"You _do_ have something of a sweet tooth..."

"I have no such thing!" protested Jenkins archly, "At least...not at the level that people need to _hide_ _food_ from me!" Andrew gave him a pitying look.

"Really?" he demanded sardonically. Jenkins cleared his throat again and ran one hand over the front of his clothes.

"So do you know where the cookies are hidden or not?" he demanded acidly.

"I do."

"Then let's go!" said Jenkins, turning to march determinedly to the kitchen to find the hidden treats, at the same time making a mental note to discuss this mortifying situation with Cassandra the instant she returned to the Annex.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading (and commenting!) 😁


End file.
